The Deep End
by AngelofPrey
Summary: Emma and Jefferson's secret relationship continues, but it won't remain a secret for long. When major players in the Storybrooke hierarchy see Jefferson's madness as a tool to get what they want. Emma's life may hang in the balace. Continuation of my fics Stress Relief, and The Breaking Point. *Reading those first is recommended.*
1. Calling in a Debt

A/N: Sorry for the delay everyone, real life got in the way at first, and then when the second season aired this story needed some revamping… well, that's done now, and we can move on. So without further delay… This story takes place sometime after "The Return" but before "An Apple Red as Blood" in my slightly alternate, more Jefferson-heavy universe.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 1: Calling in a Debt

Jefferson ignored the spectacled eyes that followed him down the hall and up the stairs of the town's small bed-and-breakfast. Granny had not been expecting a visit from the town's now-infamous recluse, but she was not the one he was here to see.

Jefferson ascended the stairs two at a time, eager to be in and out of this visit as soon as possible. He had a dinner date at the Driscoll's that evening which included being driven home by Emma; which was sure to include a sleep over with the town's illustrious sheriff. This had been shaping up to be a good day… until Jefferson had received a phone call from August Booth. When Jefferson received the call he had just been stepping out the door on the way to his appointment with the town psychiatrist Dr. Hopper, who just so happened to also be a boy's conscience in the form of a cricket… and recently, Jefferson's own conscience. Once a week Jefferson would go to see Archie, talk about Jefferson's home world of magic and fantasy, and then part ways, neither one any more or less convinced by the other's reality. Archie did however provide Jefferson with useful advice as to how to live in this world with his madness and his delusions, who to tell them to, who to hide them from, and what to do if he felt himself losing control. It was all valuable information, so Jefferson tolerated the other man's analyzing so that he could put a tick in that box, and then go and see the daughter he shared with the Driscoll couple. Once a week they would invite him over for dinner, a dinner for which the town sheriff Emma Swan was present, and then Paige would visit him without her parents on Sundays again with the town sheriff present. This was a routine that Jefferson had relaxed into easily, the ghosts of his past and therefore his madness, quieting considerably with the interaction with his daughter. He never mentioned anything of the Fairy Tale Land to her or of his sessions with Dr. Hopper, but Emma was given frequent progress reports, as she was his official guardian while he was still considered unable to care for himself. However, Jefferson's relationship with Emma was not strictly business, as they had started sleeping together soon after Jefferson had hidden from the evil-mayor Regina in the flat Emma shared with her mother/friend, Mary Margaret/Snow White… Storybrooke was a complicated town for any sane person to keep track of, for Jefferson it was downright infuriating, the lines between his old fantasy world home, and this magic-less world blurring and blending erratically.

Jefferson found himself standing in front of a solid oak door with the number 2 emblazoned on it in a brass numeral. According to Granny, this is where August Booth was staying, but to hear her grand-daughter Ruby tell it, he wasn't doing too well.

Jefferson paused, his hand hovering above the wooden door before he shook away any remnants of his madness that were telling him to run screaming in the opposite direction of this encounter, then he rapped on the wood sharply three times.

"Who is it?" August's voice sounded weak as it floated through the closed door.

Jefferson frowned. "It's Jefferson." He said. "You… asked for me."

"Come in. It's open."

Jefferson entered the room but stopped dead in his tracks when he caught a glimpse of August on the bed. One of his arms was draped over his torso, the other lay by his side. His breathing sounded labored and pained as it rattled around in his chest before being expelled with a wheeze. August lifted one arm and waved at him to come closer. The movement was jerky; as if he didn't have full control over the limb.

"What's wrong with you?" Jefferson asked warily, but even as he asked it Jefferson knew the answer. The hand that lay across August's chest was a piece of finely carved wood.

"There's no magic in this world," August said, in between his gasping breaths. "And without magic, I'm still just a puppet."

"Why hasn't this happened sooner?" Jefferson asked. "Why didn't you come to this world a puppet?"

"Because of the curse. The minute Emma got to Storybrooke and started to change things, she brought just enough magic into this world that I started to change back, as punishment for breaking my promise to my father."

"And what promise was that?"

"My father made me promise to protect her, since he was adamant on sending me through the portal as part of his agreement to make it. It meant that Emma wouldn't have her parents to help her."

Jefferson frowned again, in distaste, he'd never known the carpenter but he sounded like a fool. "You were a child! How could you be held responsible for the care of an infant?"

August shook his head with difficulty. "Doesn't matter, the magic doesn't see it that way. I promised I would, and I broke that promise, so the magic is punishing me. All magic…"

"…comes with a price." Jefferson finished.

"And it seems the price that I have to pay is my life."

"So why did you call me?"

August stared at Jefferson for a long time, as if deciding something then finally he spoke:

"I need to call in that favor you owe me, for helping you during your hearing." He said.

Jefferson nodded for August to continue.

"I want you to do what I couldn't do – what I didn't do. I want you to protect Emma."

Jefferson huffed. "Emma doesn't need protecting, and even if she did, I don't think she'd accept it, from anyone."

"Well tough, because she does, even if she doesn't want to admit it."

"You don't even like me!" Jefferson said with his nose scrunched up like he'd smelled something sour.

August made an unpleasant sound, several sharp exhalations, which Jefferson guessed to be a laugh. "That's true, I don't; but I know we both like Emma. So can I trust you to do that for me?"

Jefferson, still startled by August's affliction shrugged and said, "Yeah, I guess so."

August's good hand shot up and tugged heavily on Jefferson's sleeve, dragging Jefferson to his knees so that they were more-or-less at eye-level.

"I'm gonna need something a little better than _that_." August snarled. "Promise me; _swear to me_, that you will protect Emma from _anyone_ or _anything_ that wants to hurt her."

Jefferson could feel the power behind the other man's words, the magic curling through the room, making the air turn cold, and preparing to bind Jefferson to his word. But Jefferson could honestly not think of a scenario in which he would _not_ do anything to protect the Savior, his sometimes lover, his friend, Emma. So Jefferson ignored the hairs standing up on his arms, and the shiver going down his spine, and the way his scar was itching in an imaginary noose around his neck.

"I swear." He said, clasping August's hand in his own, even as it too turned to wood in his grasp. Jefferson shivered.

"Good, good…" August said, his eyes draining of their fire as a wave of exhaustion settled over him. "Thank you, Jefferson."

"You're welcome." Jefferson replied, stretching out his hand repeatedly in an attempt to banish the eerie sensation of flesh turning to wood from his nerves. His scar was burning now, and the madman in his brain shrieked at him, railed at him, threw things and cursed. '_What have you done, you stupid boy! That was magic, and magic is never so simple! Magic _always_ comes with a price. Are you willing to pay it? Can you even comprehend it?'_

"I'm tired," August said, drawing Jefferson's attention away from the Hatter. "You can leave now, just please lock the door on your way out."

Jefferson left the bed and breakfast with a foreboding cloud following him all the way to the Driscoll's where he was meant to have dinner.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Emma couldn't help but feel like a third… or maybe a fifth wheel, at these family dinners with Jefferson and the Driscolls. She wasn't very good at family stuff, not really having much experience in such things. She couldn't say she looked forward to them at all, but Paige's parents still requested her presence, it had only been a month since Jefferson's hearing after all. So she endured them, for Jefferson's sake. Besides, he had many creative ways of repaying her during their little sleepovers, which were disguised as court-mandated monitoring sessions.

Emma was on her way to one of these "monitoring sessions" right now, with Jefferson sending her seductive glances from the passenger seat of her Volkswagen Bug every few minutes. That being said, almost everything Jefferson did could probably be labeled as "seductive," such was the allure of the man; but Emma knew him well enough now to know when he was doing it on purpose. This was one of those times.

"Stop it." She said. "I'm driving."

Jefferson just smiled in a thoroughly self-satisfied manner but said nothing.

Jefferson had been going to see Dr. Hopper for counseling; another of the Driscoll's conditions for his access to their daughter. Dr. Hopper had confessed to Emma some of his theories about Jefferson's delusions, all without breaking patient-doctor confidentiality. He said that Jefferson's "Wonderland" was the embodiment of a tragic event from Jefferson's past; probably the car accident that had killed his wife, and led to the loss of his daughter. The "Mad Hatter" was Jefferson's alter ego, who had been developed to distance his less savory actions from the good man that Jefferson was. So when Jefferson had somehow heard about Henry's Fairy-Tale Land, he latched onto it as evidence of his own sanity, and thus expanded his own fantasy world. Jefferson and Emma had an unspoken pact, never to speak of these things. Emma never pressed him to divulge what went on in his therapy sessions, and in turn Jefferson refrained from speaking of Wonderland and curses. Their other pact involved never trying to convince the other of their insanity/ignorance; it made their relationship much more cordial.

Emma's yellow bug pulled up the long drive way in front of Jefferson's house and stopped under the overhang.

"Come in for a cup of tea?" Was how the formal invitation would always go, it was never just a cup of tea.

"Sure." Emma inevitably replied.

Before either one knew it the cups of tea were left forgotten on the counter, as Emma and Jefferson discarded their clothing and stumbled up the stairs inextricably wrapped around one another. They had reached the top step before it dawned on Jefferson to lift Emma off the ground with his hands under her thighs, and those legs wrapped around his waist. This made it considerably easier to walk… however he'd eventually have to do something about the fact that his trousers were currently wrapped around his ankles and only allowing him to move in penguin-like shuffles... But Emma's mouth was hot against his own, and her thighs squeezed his hips, and oh, her hands were in his hair, what was he thinking about? Jefferson tripped. Oh right, his trousers.

Jefferson deposited Emma neatly in the center of his large bed, the duvet cushioning her fall and puffing out around her to make an inviting looking nest. Jefferson shook his feet to free them from his pants and quickly crawled over her kissing a line up her body hungrily, paying special attention to her breasts as one hand teased her down below, making slow paths up and down her legs straying close to, but never touching that _ever_-so-pleasant place between her thighs.

Emma's head rolled back when Jefferson decided he wanted to taste that very same place, his tongue delving in and out between her folds, glancing across her clit now and then. When he eventually added a few clever fingers into the already tantalizing mix, it all became too much and Emma orgasmed with a breathy exclamation.

Jefferson looked up at her quizzically from her crotch, waiting for her to come back to her senses before asking: "Did you just call me 'god?'"

He ducked as a pillow was sent whizzing towards his head.

Emma slumped back limply against the remaining pile of pillows, as Jefferson's luxurious bed had many, panting heavily.

"If you hadn't just done such a good job you'd be in serious trouble mister." She said.

Jefferson merely grinned at her and licked his lips, the sight of which made Emma hot all over again. Jefferson leaned back for a second and rolled on a condom that seemed apperated from thin air. Then he crawled up the bed and settled over her, Emma's legs automatically went around his waist and Jefferson took this as an invitation to push into her. They both gasped at the feeling, Jefferson's eyes snapped shut and he began to thrust into her in tiny movements that gradually got more fluid as he found a rhythm that worked for both of them.

"I wasn't calling you god, you know." Emma said, in between gasps and pants.

"Weren't you?" Jefferson asked incredulously.

"No-oh!" Her reply turned into a cry of pleasure. "Most definitely did not."

"Emma?" Jefferson said.

"What?"

"Shut up."

Had it been any other person who'd said that to her, they probably would have gotten a punch in the mouth. Had it been in any other situation that _he_ said it in, he probably would have found himself without a ride to and from family dinners so fast his head would have fallen off. But it wasn't anyone else, nor was it any other situation, and really Emma couldn't disagree, so for once she complied, and they both came shortly thereafter.

After another few rounds, and a cuddle session in the afterglow, Emma lay awake in Jefferson's arms, her back to his chest and him snoring lightly into her hair. She was finding it difficult to sleep. Her conscience had kicked in a couple minutes ago, telling her how wrong this was, how much trouble she'd be in if anyone knew, and how dangerous the man who was currently drooling in her hair was.

Every voice in her head was screaming how bad of an idea this whole set up was, but her heart was, for once, not listening. Her heart was inexplicably attracted to this man. This man, who had once held her and her friend hostage, this man who was seven layers of crazy, but who was also a loving father, an attentive lover, and quickly becoming one of her better friends. Emma sighed, she wouldn't be able to put off the long think she had coming for much longer; too much was happening far too quickly.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Morning came quickly, but Emma had barely slept before Jefferson's alarm-clock started chirping that it was time for her to go to work.

Emma stretched her stiff limbs and prepared to climb out of bed, but she found Jefferson wrapping his body all the more tightly against hers in response. Emma sighed and wacked him on the arm.

"Come on, let go. I need to get to work." She said.

Jefferson's reply was mumbled into her breasts.

Emma groaned in frustration then forcibly tried to remove herself from the bed. It took the better part of her body's strength but eventually she did extricate herself from Jefferson's grasping arms.

Emma stepped into the bathroom and locked the door knowing all too well that if she didn't Jefferson would walk in on her and make absolutely certain that she was late. Twisting a couple knobs she adjusted the shower so that the hot water was quickly filling the room with steam. Then she stepped into the glass-and-granite enclosure and washed herself for another day of work.

When Emma finally stepped out of the bathroom, Jefferson was reclining on the bed with his hands folded behind his head, and his eyes closed. His hair was still playfully tousled from sleep, and he looked good enough to eat… But there were very few times when he didn't look like that.

Emma began to hunt down her discarded clothes and dress herself under Jefferson's watchful gaze.

"Now you're sure I can't convince you to call in sick? We could make a day of it." Emma suppressed a shiver; she could hear the devilish grin he was wearing just by his tone.

"I don't really think that's a great idea. If I keep on calling in sick on Fridays, directly after our 'monitoring sessions,' someone will eventually know that something is up." She said as she pulled on her jeans. Emma's bra was draped over the lampshade by the bed, and her shirt was over near a bookcase in the corner, and Emma vaguely remembered taking her coat off downstairs.

Jefferson was pouting playfully, and Emma cocked an eyebrow at him. Generally speaking she was much more of a morning person than he was, but today it seemed that he was more awake than usual. Emma freed her hair from her shirt then leaned over the bed to kiss him good-bye, and had to once again struggle to escape from the bed, as Jefferson attempted to pin her down, and coerce her into staying.

"I'm sorry!" she said, though a laugh. "But I really do have to go. I'll be back soon though."

"You promise?" Jefferson asked, looking a bit unsure.

"Yeah, I promise. You'll see me on Saturday."

Jefferson gave her a tight lipped smile as she left.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX 

Several hours later in the evening, Emma returned to the apartment she shared with Mary Margaret. Thankfully the day had been a slow one, involving one car accident, and sorting through the ever-present pile of paper work on her desk.

Emma stepped into the apartment and was immediately assailed with the scent of one of Mary Margaret's home-cooked meals.

"Oh my god, that smells amazing." Emma sighed.

"Hey, I missed you last night! That movie you love was on ABC last night."

"Oh, yeah?"

Mary Margaret nodded a pulled a steaming dish of roast potatoes from the oven.

"Yep. So where were you?"

Emma paused for a moment as her brain raced to catch up with the conversation. "I was doing that weekly thing with the Driscolls and Jefferson, then I drove him back home, and then stopped for a drink at Granny's on the way back, I got a little bit tipsy, and Ruby suggested I rent a bed for the night."

Mary Margaret nodded. "Uh-huh… So why do you have your overnight bag?"

Emma looked down at the duffle bag in her hand, and then looked back up at Mary Margaret.

"You weren't at Granny's, Emma. I know that because _I_ was at Granny's… You've been staying at Jefferson's haven't you?"

Emma closed her eyes and sighed. "You caught me."

"Emma, do you have any idea how much trouble you could get in?! I mean _really_, is jeopardizing your job, and potentially your relationship with your son worth whatever you have going on with Jefferson!?" Mary Margaret yelled.

"No, but…"

"But, _what_?! What kind of relationship could you possibly have with the man who held us hostage!? Does that sound even remotely healthy to you?"

"That's a bit rich coming from you!" Emma snapped. "Miss I-jeopardized-my-whole-life-to-be-with-a-married-guy. Miss I-still-have-feelings-for-the-guy-who-was-convinced-I-killed-his-_wife_!"

Mary Margaret looked like she had been slapped across the face.

Emma stared at her wide-eyed. "Mary Margaret, I'm sorry, I didn't mean –"

"No," Mary Margaret interrupted. "No, Emma, you're right. What I had with David wasn't very healthy… But I ended it. So I think you need to decide whether or not your relationship with Jefferson is worth putting everything on the line for… you saw what happened to me, so learn from my mistakes."

With that Mary Margaret stormed out of the apartment leaving her cooking on the stove, and leaving Emma standing in the middle of the room, staring after her.

Then her phone rang.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XX

A/N: Thanks for reading! If you liked it why not review? Something short and simple as "Liked it!" would be completely acceptable. If you didn't like it, please review! I'd like to improve my writing abilities, so constructive criticism is welcomed as well.


	2. Underneath the Water

A/N: The titles for this chapter and the next were taken from the lyrics of the song "Barton Hollow" by the Civil Wars (A stellar musical duo, if you've never heard of them.) which I thought fit this fic rather neatly.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXX

Chapter 2: Underneath the Water

Not ten minutes after Emma had left; Jefferson heard an insistent knocking at the door.

A part of him entertained the mental image of him opening the door and finding Emma standing on the other side. Returning because she had forgotten an article of clothing, or some word she had meant to leave him with, but really because she wanted to stay. They'd stare at each other awkwardly for a moment, then he'd lick his lips, or her finger would twitch, and then they'd be on each other. Kissing furiously, and tearing at each other's clothes, until he carried her back up to bed, or she shoved him down right there in the front hall and had her way with him until they both saw stars.

It wasn't Emma standing on his porch.

"Mr. Gold," Jefferson said, blinking rapidly at the onslaught of negative emotions that came attached to the memories of this man, and to banish the intense day-dream he had been indulging in.

"Good morning, Mr. Lake." The pawn-broker replied.

"What are you doing here?" Jefferson frowned.

"Aren't you going to invite me in? I'd love a cup of tea."

Jefferson raised his eyebrows at the man, but stepped to one side in a silent invitation.

Rumpelstiltskin limped heavily past him and into his living room, casting a curious eye around the house.

"Nice place you have, Mr. Lake, though at tad excessive for just one man perhaps?"

"What do you want?" Jefferson bit out, pinching two fingers at the bridge of his nose and moving over to the side board to pour himself two-fingers of Scotch, it was early, but a visit from Rumpelstiltskin was reason enough to start drinking at nine in the morning.

Rumpelstiltskin studied Jefferson for a moment before replying.

"I'm here to have a chat with you, about the curse."

The cut-crystal glass of whiskey slipped from Jefferson's fingers and spilled its amber contents across the carpet. The glass however, stayed intact.

"You remember?" Jefferson said when his breath returned.

"Oh yes, dearie." Rumpelstiltskin, for this really was Rumpelstiltskin, replied with a hint of his old accent returning.

Mr. Gold's knowing smile became that much more malicious with this new revelation.

"But – how?"

Rumpel shrugged and hobbled over to the fireplace to inspect the various bric-a-brac adorning the mantelpiece.

"Sheriff Swan is a very special young woman, as I am sure you already know…"

"How long?"

"Since she arrived."

Jefferson was suddenly struck by an idea.

"But if people are waking up then –"

"Oh, I didn't say 'people' were waking up." Rumpelstiltskin interrupted. "Just me; sorry."

Jefferson sighed and shook his head in an attempt to restrain the rage that swelled at the death of his sudden hope. 'Controlling his impulses.' The Cricket had talked about. Not acting on the madness was the first step to caging the Hatter for good.

"Why are you here?" Jefferson growled.

"Miss Swan is meant to be the savior of Storybrooke. I know you know that. The curse has affected us all; I believe you have a daughter you wish to return to… Paige is it?"

"Her name is – " Jefferson snapped, but Grace's true name died on his lips at the glint of pleasure in Rumpelstiltskin's eye. "Not for sale." He finished instead.

Rumpelstiltskin grinned regardless. "I too have things I wish to do, and I can't do them stuck in this _charming_ little town." He sneered. "But… Fortunately I know how to break the curse." He said.

"How?"

There was a darkness in Jefferson's voice, a barely restrained malice that Rumpelstiltskin had never heard before. Jefferson had once been his errand boy, a rash and selfish man, but useful. Rumpel had allowed the boy to leave his service when Jefferson had come to the Dark One's castle to beg his freedom after his young daughter had lost her mother to Jefferson's hat. But this was something different. This was _the Hatter_ standing before him, a being of pain, anger, and destruction, not the young man who had loved his life of adventure and riches, and who had ultimately given it all away for love.

Rumpel's grin broadened. He had been hoping this new side of Jefferson would make an appearance.

"To break the curse we need a sacrificial lamb, so-to-speak."

"Who?"

"Why, the Savior of course, dearie."

"What do you mean?" Jefferson asked warily, the obvious implication of Emma's death making Jefferson regain enough control to rein the Hatter in just a little.

"What I mean is that it's time for Emma to fulfill her destiny. I want you to kill her. I want you to break the curse on Storybrooke. I want you to bring back the happy endings; because then, and _only_ then, will you be allowed to truly reunite with your daughter."

"There has to be another way." Jefferson pleaded, this revelation had shocked him even deeper than the first, and he struggled to contain all of the different strands in the tangled ball of string that served for his broken mind.

"What other way?" Rumpelstiltskin reasoned. "Either Emma Swan dies, and we can _all_ wake up and return to the way things were, or we can all stay stuck like this… but Miss Swan _must_ die for the curse to be lifted. It's your choice."

Jefferson tore at his hair and began to pace. Rumpelstiltskin watched him with interest.

"But Emma will age and die anyway, she's not like us." Jefferson pointed out.

Rumpelstiltskin shrugged. "Yes, well, that's not the same though is it? Emma dying of natural causes isn't enough to break a curse like this one. Powerful magic needs an even more powerful magic to break it."

"True-love's kiss." Jefferson said.

Rumpelstiltskin made a face as if he were weighing the options, then he shrugged again.

"Indeed, true-love's kiss would be enough to break this curse, but who would she kiss? The old sheriff is dead, and as I understand it, the two of them became rather intimate directly before he died. I also heard he was suffering from memory problems the day before."

"True-love isn't restricted to one person in a lifetime." Jefferson protested.

"True, but that still begs the question, who would kiss the princess?"

Rumpelstiltskin then smiled as an understanding dawned on him. Jefferson would have liked nothing better than to wipe that patronizing grin right off his face.

"Oh, I see. You think that _you_ could do it." He said, gesturing to Jefferson.

Jefferson scowled.

"My, my, my, this little affair of yours' _has_ progressed… Do you love her, Jefferson? Enough to be willing to neglect your own daughter for a fool's chance that the esteemed Savior of Storybrooke would grow to care for you enough to invoke the most powerful magic in any world? Is that it?"

Jefferson said nothing.

"Well, let me enlighten you, Jefferson. That's not going to happen. Miss Swan is incapable of true attachment; comes with the territory of being abandoned by one's parents. Her own son is barely keeping her in Storybrooke, what makes you think that you can? And furthermore, what kind of parent puts their own needs before the needs of their child?" By the time Rumpelstiltskin had finished ranting, he was standing toe-to-toe with Jefferson and was very nearly yelling at the other man. Rumpel wasn't even sure what he was saying anymore, more focused on doing whatever it took to convince Jefferson of this task, so that he could begin his quest to find his own child.

"I could ask you the same thing." Jefferson said, the venom in his voice clearly showing that Rumpelstiltskin had struck a nerve.

Mr. Gold's lip twitched in a barely contained snarl.

"Do yourself a favor, Jefferson," He said, "Forget about the Sheriff. Killing her is the only _sure_ way to get your daughter back."

With that, Rumpelstiltskin left Jefferson's house almost as quickly as he had entered; slamming the door behind him, and leaving Jefferson's already damaged mind, fractured to the point of fragmenting entirely. The Hatter was howling at him, other voices that accompanied him were ones he hadn't heard surface since Wonderland. Voices of ghosts, imagined and real, his long-dead wife, his lost daughter, his brother, both Queens: red and black, and now Emma's voice had joined the cacophony as well. All of them were shouting and pushing against his skull, striving to be heard midst each other's shouts and his own thoughts. All of his regrets and mistakes in life lay bare before him; distorted, exaggerated, and transformed into horrifying monsters of nightmarish visage and proportions.

Jefferson had sunk to the floor, clutching at his hair and panting heavily. He stared blindly at his shoes, rocking back and forth like a frightened child, and muttering to himself, sobbing nonsensical phrases into the quiet air of his empty house while his mind cannibalized itself and plunged him once again, head-long into the dark, terrifying seas of his madness.

It _hurt_, it hurt like hell: a hurt that hung in his chest like the scythe in that story about a pit and a pendulum and a pounding in his ears like a thousand drums used to scare off lions and unicorns alike, and what's worse the Hatter was loose.

Jefferson stood stiffly after a while, though nothing had changed. The drying tears on his cheeks made his skin feel tight, and itchy. He moved over to a mirror that hung above the fireplace and stared at his reflection. The emotion and self-awareness that Emma, Archie, and Paige had all worked so hard to put into his eyes was now gone. They were now dark, emotionless place-holders in his face. His hair was sticking out in every direction haphazardly from his hands tearing at it.

The Mad Hatter reached up slowly and removed the scarf from around his neck. He let it drop to the floor carelessly, the whisper of silk hitting the ceramic tiles of the hearth. The scar around his neck looked raw as he inspected it, tilting his head to one side. It was burning him, itching like thousands of microscopic ants nibbling at the jagged line. Jefferson recognized the tingle of magic in that burn, and vacantly realized that it was the magic in the promise he had made to the puppet-man just yesterday.

That conversation felt so far away now, like it had been years and not hours ago. He had made that promise when he didn't know that Grace's freedom depended on Emma's existence… or lack thereof.

Jefferson contemplated how he would do it; because he was going to do it. No matter how lovely Emma was, no matter how intoxicating their relationship had been, Grace was his daughter, and she would always be his priority. Emma had made him forget that temporarily with the promises of being able to interact with his daughter in this reality, of being able to share her…

"We shouldn't have to share her." The Hatter growled. "She's ours, not theirs. How dare they think that they can keep her from us?"

Jefferson's eyes darkened further in the reflection in the mirror. He didn't like the man he saw, so he destroyed the image, his fist lashing out and breaking the mirror to pieces.

"They say mirrors never lie." He said to no one in particular. "But we know better, don't we? Mirrors can't be trusted."

Jefferson gazed at the blood seeping from the cuts on his knuckles hollowly. He dipped one finger from his other hand into the pooling liquid and then inspected the red droplet closely. It glistened and gleamed like a liquid ruby on the tip of his finger. Jefferson sniffed it curiously, then his tongue darted out and stole the priceless jewel. A coppery taste flooded his mouth and he looked back down at his injured hand. One heavy drop fell from the wound and soaked into the pristine white carpet amid the remains of the shattered mirror. All the while he muttered to himself angrily. Jefferson howled once more, clutching his head.

"Kill the princess, get the girl. Retrieve the daughter and break the curse, or let the pretty lady live? It's all well and good, but it's no excuse for going to hell in a teapot. The girl reminds of her mother, both of them do. Someone make them shut up! Run, run, run, don't run, no – walk. There's nowhere to run, don't run! Trapped! Like rats in a maze. Sadistic tests to see if they can find the cheese. It hurts! Kill the girl, kill the princess. God, please kill me!"

Then with that tortured scream he dashed out of the house and towards the town.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX 

Jefferson crouched low in the bushes that filled the abandoned lot across the street from the house he was spying on.

His target was the woman inside. Her blonde hair was tied back in a pony-tail and she was washing the dishes from dinner earlier that evening. No car was in the driveway so Jefferson knew she was alone.

He moved around the house, jumping from shadow to shadow, his dark clothing aiding him in his efforts to remain invisible. He checked every window and the front entrance before finding that the back door had been left unlocked, and he stepped directly into the Driscoll's kitchen uninhibited, he made sure to lock the door behind him.

Sarah Driscoll looked up as she noticed a dark shape in the corner of her eye. She jumped with a little shriek of surprise and dropped the glass she had been cleaning. It shattered on the hard kitchen floor and little shards of glass skittered around, one bounced off the toe of Jefferson's shoe.

"Oh, God! Jefferson, you scared me!" Sarah said with a breathy little laugh.

Jefferson said nothing.

"I must not have heard you knock." She continued. "Paige isn't home right now; she's at the movies with her father."

A muscle in Jefferson's cheek jumped. It was then that Sarah's instincts warned her that there was something _very_ wrong.

"Jefferson, are you alright?" she asked, taking a step closer to him and then wincing as a shard of the broken glass bit into her bare toe. When she looked up again Jefferson had moved so that they were only inches apart.

"Grace," He said.

"What?"

"Her name is _Grace_."

Then suddenly he grabbed her. Jefferson spun Sarah around by her shoulder and had one hand covering her face with a damp cloth, while the other pinned Sarah's arms behind her back.

Sarah gasped in surprise and immediately began to cough at the sickly sweet smell of the liquid the cloth had been soaked in. The smell was enough to gag her, and make her head feel light.

"Tell me, Sarah, does this smell like chloroform to you?" Jefferson whispered into her ear.

Sarah gave one last pitiful resistance before another round of coughing forced her to inhale involuntarily and blackness clouded over her vision.

Jefferson lifted the woman into a fireman's carry as she fell limp in his arms.

"I'll take that as a yes." He grunted, as he began to carry her to another part of the house.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX 

Emma switched off the flashing lights of the official sheriff's department vehicle, as she turned the corner onto the quiet residential street where Paige and her family lived.

The call Emma had received had been from the emergency response department at the station asking her to respond to a call a neighbor had made, reporting a strange figure lurking in the bushes around the Driscoll's home. Apparently this unknown person was attempting to enter the house by various windows and doors. Emma's stomach had dropped at the thought of who it might be skulking around in the shadows. She had though Jefferson had been alright and relatively calm when she had left him that morning. Had she read him completely wrong? Was she just deluding herself and ignoring the signs in front of her because she wanted to believe that he was improving? Emma couldn't be sure, and her heart was pounding all the way from her apartment to the station, and then from the station to the Driscoll's.

Emma added "ask Regina to increase the sheriff department's yearly budget so that she can hire more help for similar situations," to her mental list of tasks to be done in the near future. It had taken over twenty minutes to get here, and that was an absurdly long time for what might be a very dangerous situation.

Emma parked down the street away from the house in question and slowly made her way up to the front door from a blind spot in the corner of the house. Then she drew her gun from its holster and knocked on the door.

"Mrs. Driscoll? Mr. Driscoll? Paige? Anybody home? I received a call from a neighbor, I'm just here to make sure everything's alright."

When no reply came, Emma tried the door. It was locked, so she went around the house to the back door. It was locked as well.

"Desperate times…" she said, before crouching down and fishing a small set of hooks and pins out of her jacket pocket. A few seconds later her lock-picking set, left over from her previous lives of both thievery and then bounty hunting, tricked the simple technology into opening and Emma stepped into the well-lit kitchen.

Emma took a quick glance around, she didn't see anyone but she kept her gun out and ready anyway. She took in her surroundings for clues: half-cleaned dishes lay in the sink and along the counter space and there was a spray of shattered glass all over the place, a few small puddles of blood suggested that someone had cut themselves and a trail of it led out of the kitchen. Someone had clearly been here recently.

Emma followed the blood-trail out of the kitchen and into the living room, which was also devoid of human life, but where she found a damp dishtowel lying in the hall. Before following the trail any further Emma cast a brief glance out the front window to make sure that no one could have seen her approach.

Suddenly Emma heard the sound of muffled screaming and a series of loud thumps from the second level and Emma quickly ran in the direction the sound had come from. She called out in hopes that someone would shout again to guide her.

A muffled sobbing did guide her into the guest room where Emma found Sarah Driscoll tied to a chair and gagged in a way that made her immediately recall Mary Margaret's own kidnapping. The window behind Sarah Driscoll was open the curtains swayed gently in the cool night breeze that wafted into the room.

"Mrs. Driscoll," Emma said, rushing forward. "It's ok; it's going to be ok."

Emma untied the woman's gag first and Sarah dissolved into hysterical sobbing. Then Emma untied her arms and legs and Sarah shot out of the chair like it burned her, before her legs gave out and she crumbled to the floor.

"Listen, Mrs. Driscoll, this is really important." Emma said, crouching so that she was on eye level with the woman. "You've got to calm down for me, yeah? I've got to ask you some questions."

Sarah made her best effort to calm her sobbing, but only managed hyperventilation.

"Is the person who did this still in the house?" Emma asked.

Sarah shook her head; negative. Emma relaxed slightly.

"Ok, good. Now, Mrs. Driscoll did you see the intruder at all? Did you know them?"

Sarah nodded and burst into yet more hysterical sobs. Emma sighed, summoning all the patience she could muster.

"Hey, I _promise_ you, that I'm gonna catch this guy; but you _have_ to help me out here. You gotta tell me who it was."

Sarah took in a few breaths before she managed to whimper her answer in between gasps.

"It was – it – it was _Jefferson_."

Emma swore a blue-streak in her head that the devil would have been proud of.

"Ok," she said aloud. "Where are your husband and Paige? Are they safe?"

Sarah nodded. "They were at the movies; they should be home any minute."

As if by magic Emma heard the sounds of a car pulling into the driveway.

She turned back to Sarah and said:

"Ok, you and your husband should take Paige and go stay at Granny's tonight. Tell her to bill it to the Sheriff's station, and feel free to get anything you want, food, drinks, anything. I'll be by in the morning to take an official statement."

By this time Patrick Driscoll had found the evidence of a struggle in his kitchen.

"Sarah?" He called, still not quite understanding the gravity of the situation that had occurred.

"Patrick!" She called back; there was still a hint of panic in her voice. "I'm up here!"

There was the sound of two sets of feet pounding up the stairs.

"Oh my God, Sarah! What happened!?" Patrick demanded when he entered the room and saw his wife on the floor with the Sheriff kneeling beside her.

Paige flew into her mother's arms.

"Mr. Lake had a relapse." Emma explained calmly, and a feeling of horrible dread twisted through her gut at the dark look that passed over Patrick's face.

"Are you alright?" He asked his wife.

"Yes, I'm fine. He didn't hurt me, _really_. Just frightened me a bit is all."

Emma had to admit that she was impressed by the reserves of strength that Sarah had dredged up to save face in front of her daughter; considering the emotional wreck she had been a few minutes ago and justifiably still should be.

Emma stood from where she had been kneeling.

"Right, I've already given Mrs. Driscoll some instructions, but right now I need to go and find Mr. Lake." She said.

"Let me come with you." Patrick stepped forward gallantly, with a determined look in his eyes.

"No, that won't be necessary." Emma replied.

"But –"

"Mr. Driscoll," Emma said stepping forward and taking him aside. "I appreciate the offer, I really do, and I understand why you made it. But you need to be with your family right now, don't you think?"

She could see him weigh her words against his conscience, and she saw when he accepted them as the truth, because he visibly drained of any energy the adrenaline of anger had given him, and aged about five years in the process.

"Good." She said, then repeated her instructions to Patrick about spending the night at the town's little inn.

"And remember," She added, "If you need _anything_, or have any questions, call me."

"Thank you Sheriff." Sarah Driscoll said, implying everything that had occurred that night.

Emma nodded. "I'll be back." She promised and then left the family's home in order to find the man who'd done this.

She case one last look at Paige though, and saw that the girl looked far more conflicted on the issue than anyone else did. Emma didn't think any of them would be getting much sleep that night, and that the nightmares and scars of it all would last longer still.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX 

A/N: I thought about making the Hatter a truly separate personality. But eventually I decided that it wasn't how I wanted to portray his madness. Jefferson has a LOT to answer for, and it would be better if he knows that it was all him, and not some other person that was living in his body. That would be far too easy. Jefferson's got some major guilt coming, but what can I say? Sebastian Stan just looks so pretty when he cries. ;)


	3. Breaking Promises

A/N: Sorry this took so long, life got a little hectic recently, and my muse fled for the hills. Hopefully the next chapter will be easier.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 3: Breaking Promises

Jefferson's house seemed sinister in the encroaching darkness of the early evening, more so than it had even during the kidnapping incident when Emma had first entered it. That night seemed lifetimes away from where Emma stood now. The front door had been left standing open, from someone coming or going Emma couldn't say. But now it was a black mouth, gaping wide and greedily devouring whatever came near enough for it to grasp. The windows in the front of the house were dark except for one, the one in Jefferson's study. There was nothing that could give Emma any clues for what to expect once inside.

Emma knew she should be angry or even nervous for her own safety, but all she could feel was a worry for Jefferson that churned at her guts. What had pushed him over the edge? This wasn't merely one of his episodes of manic behavior, this was a full-blown relapse into his violent delusions.

Emma rifled through the trunk of the old Crown Victoria for her Taser. Jefferson was still a friend so she didn't want to hurt him, but Emma was a pragmatist to the core; she'd seen how violent he could be so she wasn't going to take any chances.

She entered the house carefully, her Taser primed and waiting in her hand. The living room was dark but Emma's eyes had adjusted during the drive through the tall trees of the forest that hid Jefferson's house away from the rest of the town. She hit the light-switch anyway half-expecting him to be waiting for her there in the gloom.

The room was empty.

A dark stain on the pristine white of the carpet drew Emma's eye and she moved to pick up the cut-crystal tumbler that Jefferson liked to serve whiskey in. Emma set the glass on the mantelpiece and made another cursory glance around the room. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she thought:

'There is something very _wrong_."

Jefferson liked things to be in their proper place; it was only when he let his madness take over that he became messy. An OCD-esque need for cleanliness and organization was one of the quirks that Emma had learned belonged to _Jefferson_, not to the Mad Hatter; a stubbly beard, or unwashed dishes in the sink were enough to let Emma know that Jefferson had had a rough day for some reason or another. An un-bleached stain in his carpet was just the same sort of clue.

Suddenly the sound of footsteps and banging came from the level above her. Emma sighed in order to calm her nerves and followed the sounds upstairs to the door of Jefferson's study. Light spilled out from the gap at the bottom of the door where it hung suspended millimeters from where the carpet of the hall met the hardwood floor of the study. In all the time she had been acquainted with Jefferson, Emma had never re-entered the room where the Mad Hatter had forced her into making him a hat. For the entirety of their arrangement the door had remained firmly closed and locked. It had been an unspoken agreement between them that that room was off limits to her, it held too many negative memories, too many unanswered questions that might shatter their fragile arrangement. Emma sighed again, she didn't think she would have to worry about arrangements between Jefferson and herself anymore. It was unlikely that Jefferson would be allowed to live on his own after tonight. Regina would get her wish for Jefferson's confinement after all, and Emma couldn't really say she disagreed now.

Emma could hear Jefferson moving things around inside the room, the unpleasant vibrating groan of something heavy being dragged; probably his desk. She knelt in front of the door to peer through the keyhole in an attempt to have some clue as to what he was doing. Emma caught a glimpse of Jefferson lifting a chair before she jumped back and it banged against the door forcefully.

He was barricading himself in the room, she realized.

Emma stood again, and knocked.

"Jefferson?" she called. "Jefferson, open up, I need to talk to you."

Emma tried the door knob and as she suspected it was locked, aside from the large pile of heavy objects on the other side barring her entrance… or elsewise his exit.

She heard something like pained laughter float through the wood.

"Oh, Emma," Jefferson said. "You'd run far away from here if you knew what was good for you."

"And why's that?"

"Because even I don't know what I'll do."

"Yeah, well, I'm actually here to figure out what's good for _you_. Why'd you attack Sarah, Jefferson?" Emma asked, trying to keep him talking while she figured out what to do.

"Those people have my daughter, Emma." He said. "If someone kidnapped Henry you can't seriously tell me that you wouldn't tear Heaven and Hell apart to get him back?"

"I would." Emma admitted. "But Paige hasn't been kidnapped. She was adopted, remember? And I know it's hard to share her but that doesn't mean you can take matters into your own hands. I've wanted to with Regina, believe me I have, but you have _got_ to do this legally."

"Why?" Came his reply.

"Because otherwise you'll never see her again! Jefferson, open the door dammit!"

"No!" He cried, sounding half pained, half like a petulant child.

"Why not!?" Emma was getting frustrated.

"I _can't_." His voice was pleading. "_Please_, Emma, just go!"

"Alright," Emma sighed, "But Sarah is going to press charges, I'm gonna have to come and get you eventually. You understand Jefferson? I'm going to have to _arrest_ you for what you did tonight!"

"Just leave!" He sounded as if he were crying, and Emma was more determined than ever to get into that office. She ducked into Jefferson's bedroom and went over to one of the windows. Emma pushed the window open as far as she could and then kicked out the wire-mesh fly screen, so she could then climb out onto the roof of the porch that wrapped most of the way around the house. Cold night air rushed to greet her as Emma clambered out the window. She slowly crawled on her hands and knees over to the window of the study and peered inside to get a better perspective on the situation.

Jefferson was indeed crying, he sat in the middle of the floor rocking back and forth with his hands wrapped around his knees, sobs shaking his shoulders. Emma pushed back a wave of sympathy that the part of her who was still Jefferson's lover wanted her to feel. He wasn't wearing anything to cover the scar on his neck she noticed, and she could have sworn it looked more raw than usual, as if he had been scratching at it.

Emma's mouth set into a determined line as she went to work breaking into the study. She tore out the bug-screen and began to work on getting the latch of the window undone using a switch blade from her pocket, and skills that she hadn't utilized since her thieving days. A quick glance into the room and she saw Jefferson's horrified expression as he realized that she hadn't really left and was now breaking into his self-inflicted prison. He leapt to his feet and desperately tried to free himself from the room, tearing at the furniture and heavy objects he had used to barricade the door before Emma could get in.

But Emma's rusty thieving skills served her well and only a few moments later Emma was crawling head-first through the open window. Due to her precarious position she was completely blind-sided by Jefferson suddenly becoming violent, and he tackled her to the ground just as she was climbing to her feet. His hands were around her throat before she even registered what had just happened. Tears sprang to her eyes as pain bloomed behind her eyes from her skull hitting the ground. Thinking quickly and almost by reflex, Emma's hand closed around an object within her reach and she swung it hard catching Jefferson's temple. Jefferson cried out and sat back on his heels dazed by the blow and blinking stars out of his eyes. Emma scrambled out from under him, coughing and gasping for air.

"Jesus Christ!" Emma swore when she could finally speak again, suddenly furious. "What the _hell_ is going on!?"

The knock to his head seemed to have brought Jefferson back to himself, if only for a moment.

"Rumplestiltskin..." Jefferson muttered refusing to meet her eyes.

"_What?_" Emma snapped.

"The only way to break the curse," Jefferson explained. "Is to kill you."

Emma was now livid. "_That_ is what all this is about?! Henry's _curse_!? You can't be serious!"

"I'm sorry Emma, but I want my daughter back…" Jefferson said as if it explained everything.

"You _had_ your daughter back, you idiot!" She cried. "You _had_ her, and now you've thrown it all away, and for _what_!? And you're prepared to _kill me_ for it!? Has everything I've done for you, meant nothing!? All the times I stuck up for you, and defended you and comforted you and – Jesus, Jefferson does all of that mean _nothing_!?"

"I just want Grace," He was on the verge of crying again, his eyes red with tears, and he curled in on himself as he spoke. "If I can just break the curse, she'll wake up and remember, _everyone_ would remember!"

"And to do that you have to kill me?! Listen to yourself Jefferson, that's –"

"Mad?" He interrupted darkly, but Emma ignored this sudden change.

"You have to forget about the curse Jefferson, or else you're never going to get better. It's not real!"

"It's not real…" Jefferson repeated, with a little smirk. "Grace isn't real. _Alice_ isn't real. _This_ isn't real!" Jefferson gestured violently to his scar as he stood.

"Emma, Emma, Emma," he sighed. "Poor little orphan, Emma, who can't see what's right in front of her; wouldn't see it even if it hit her in the face. Tell me, Emma, how did you get so bitter? When did magic lose its appeal? You're like a sour old apple, dead before your time and that has nothing to do with me. So tell me, what happened to your imagination? When did you stop hoping that the world was more than it seemed?" He was standing toe-to-toe with her now and Emma was glaring at him. He had struck a nerve.

Jefferson reached out to stroke a hand through her hair and she flinched away from him. He smiled.

"You're scared of me." He said, delighted.

"No." Emma replied, but her voice trembled slightly and she moved her hand over the trigger of her Taser.

There was a tense moment as they both tried to stare the other one down, their eyes locked and Jefferson could see a righteous fire behind Emma's green eyes, one that could purify this town with her fury should she ever set her mind to it. There was magic in her and she didn't even know it, her constant denial that she was anything special would have been enough to drive Jefferson to a desperate madness even if he wasn't already the Mad Hatter. She would not die without a fight that fire told him, and Jefferson experienced a moment of doubt about the ending of such a beautiful thing. This moment was enough to alert Jefferson to the searing pain of the promise he was breaking to Pinocchio, the magic had seeped into his scar and it was burning almost as badly as it had the day he'd received the injury. He could feel the promise like a serrated knife slowly shaving at the single thread tethering him to reality. The price of this broken promise would be the clarity he'd fought so hard to regain over the past twenty-eight years. If he harmed Emma he would never return to himself, even if the curse was broken. This meant that chances were that without even realizing what he was doing, ultimately, he would hurt Grace.

In Jefferson's eyes Emma could see nothing, only an emptiness and the hollow sadness of a person forced to endure tortures of the soul for too long without reprieve. But suddenly there was the flicker of something human, and Jefferson moved away and began unstacking the pile of heavy furniture he had used to barricade the door.

"What are you doing?" Emma asked cautiously after a moment.

"What's it look like I'm doing?" Jefferson snapped. "I'm letting you go."

Emma blinked. "But I thought – "

"I _know_ what I said, Emma. But I made a promise to someone to protect you…"

"Protect me?" Emma asked indignantly. "I don't need you to protect me!"

Jefferson rolled his eyes. "_Yes_, Princess, but I'm protecting you from myself."

By this time Jefferson had dismantled the barricade enough that he could open the door to his study, and walked back to stand before Emma.

"It hasn't meant nothing," He said. "That's why I made the promise to protect you in the first place, and I don't regret it."

'Even if it destroys me.' He added to himself.

"Promised who?"

Jefferson didn't reply, he just stared at her hard.

"Jefferson, what happened to you today? What caused all this?"

Jefferson's lip twitched in a snarl. "Rumpelstiltskin." He said, then he closed his eyes and corrected himself for Emma's sake. "Mr. Gold."

"What about Mr. Gold?"

"He came to visit me, told me that he wanted me to kill you to break the curse."

Emma frowned and shook her head in confusion. "Why would Mr. Gold want me dead?"

"He also wants a child back…"

"What does that mean?"

"Leave, Emma." Jefferson insisted. "Leave, and if you come back… I _will _kill you."

"I'm going to come back Jefferson, you know that right? The Driscolls are going to press charges and I'm going to have to arrest you."

"Then bring a gun." He said coldly, and he moved so that he was slouching in a chair with his face cradled in one hand as if he had a migraine.

Emma frowned at him, trying to think of a reason to protest but she couldn't find one.

"I'm sorry that I couldn't help you." She said, feeling the door between them closing in her mind simultaneous to the physical one she shut as she left his office.

"I'm sorry, too." He replied in a whisper without looking up.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Emma phoned Archie as she drove home. She had stopped back at the sheriff's station and asked one of the on-duty officers to watch Jefferson's house and to detain him if he attempted to leave.

The phone rang four times before the psychiatrist answered.

"Hello?" Came his voice, still half-asleep.

"Hey Archie, it's Emma. Sorry it's so late, is this a bad time?" she said.

"Uh, no. No, Sheriff Swan it's not. What can I do for you?"

Emma sighed, fighting back the emotions that threatened to surface as she remembered what had transpired that day. "It's Jefferson…"

"…I see." Archie said after a pause. "Should I go and see him?"

"No," Emma replied, "I don't think that's a good idea, I'm not sure it's safe."

"What do you mean?"

"He… attacked Sarah Driscoll earlier today."

"Oh my god, is she alright?"

"Yeah, she's fine, but that's what I was calling you about. Do you think you could go and check on them in the morning? I put them up in Granny's for the night, and I've got to go and take a statement tomorrow, but I'd really appreciate having you there for… moral and professional support."

"Of course, I'm happy to help."

"Thanks Archie, you're a saint."

Archie chuckled wistfully. "Hardly, but I do what I can for people."

It was late by the time Emma returned home, and she was exhausted both mentally and physically. As Emma pulled in the driveway she could see that a light was on in the living area, and the flickering blue-ish hue told her that the television was on meaning that Mary Margaret had waited up for her… or had meant to and had fallen asleep watching some late-night program again.

Emma entered the apartment as quietly as she could as a precaution, slipping off her boots before she entered and setting them down gently just inside on the shoe mat. Mary Margaret poked her head up from the back of the couch and looked Emma up and down.

"Hey," she said. "You're home late."

Emma gave a tight lipped smiled. "Yeah." She replied, letting her head thump against the hard wood of the door. She closed her eyes and felt all the emotions she'd held at bay finally crash over her.

Mary Margaret sat up further and her brow furrowed as she took in Emma's expression.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Once again everything that had happened that day replayed in Emma's head, from leaving Jefferson's bed that morning, to having to break into the Driscoll's house, and then learning that Jefferson was convinced he had to kill her in order to save his daughter, and it was all too much. Tears started to streak down Emma's cheeks in blazing angry trails, and once the first one's spilled more followed, and more and more until Emma couldn't hold them back any longer and she began to sob, huge pain filled sobs that shook her shoulders and made her head ache.

Mary Margaret was off the couch and had Emma in her arms in under five seconds. It took Emma five tries before she could relay the day's events to Mary Margaret with any degree of coherency, and by the end of it Mary Margaret was crying too, but for Emma's sake.

Half an hour, half a box of tissues, and two glasses of whiskey each later; Mary Margaret and Emma sat on the couch and discussed what was going to happen next.

"I'm gonna have to arrest him." Emma said.

Mary Margaret frowned and squeezed Emma's hand.

"I'm sorry it came to this." Mary Margaret said.

"No, see, what you're supposed to say is 'I-told-you-so' and then berate me for not listening to you when you said this would all blow up in my face."

Mary Margaret shook her head. "I never found that did any good…"

Emma gave her a _look_.

Mary Margaret nudged Emma with her shoulder. "…But I did tell you didn't I?"

"You did."

"Maybe it's for the best, you know? Maybe now Jefferson will get the help he needs."

Emma sighed. "I doubt it… Regina wanted Jefferson locked away before, now she's actually got a legal justification for it."

Mary Margaret frowned into the bottom of her whiskey glass. "And you said that he said _Mr. Gold_ told him he needed to kill you?"

Emma shrugged. "That's what he said. Well, technically he said 'Rumpelstiltskin' told him to kill me."

"And Jefferson thinks Mr. Gold is Rumpelstiltskin?"

"Yeah… it's so weird because from what I've heard of Jefferson's delusions, they are the exact same as Henry's fairy tale theories; but I _know_ they've never spoken to each other…"

"That _is_ weird… So, what are you going to do?"

"I've got to go and talk to the Driscoll's tomorrow morning… then I'm gonna go and talk to Mr. Gold."

"Do you think that's a good idea? What if he actually does want you dead?"

"Then, I'll… be really careful. But something set Jefferson off yesterday, and I want to know what it was."

They were quiet for a while as they finished the last of their whiskey.

"Are you going to be ok?" Mary Margaret asked.

"Yeah, I'll be fine." Emma said. "This isn't the first time a guy's screwed me over emotionally…"

Mary Margaret raised an eyebrow.

"I'll tell you that story another time. Right now I've got to go to bed, I'm completely bushed and I've got a long day tomorrow too."

"You think you'll sleep ok?"

Emma shook her whiskey glass meaningfully. "I should be fine."

The two women stood, hugged each other tightly, and then went off to their respective bedrooms. But as Emma lay in bed sleep refused to come and she lay awake, her mind still replaying the events of the day. She wondered what Jefferson was doing and forced herself to think of other things before those thoughts strayed to unwanted truths. Emma reached for her cell phone and pushed one of the buttons on speed-dial.

The phone rang a few times before the owner answered.

"Emma?" Henry's voice was thick with sleep, and Emma could feel the tears pricking at her eyes again.

"Hey kid, sorry to wake you."

"It's ok. What's up?" he asked.

"I just wanted to say 'hi.'"

Henry paused, clearing knowing something wasn't right. The kid was too smart for his own good. But he decided not to comment on it. No, Emma thought, he was just smart enough. They talked until Emma couldn't keep her eyes open any longer, and Emma tried to hang up but Henry insisted on keeping the line open and stayed awake until he could hear his mother snoring softly into her pillow. He knew something wasn't right, and he knew that Emma would never tell him what it was because she thought she was protecting him, but she was his mom and that meant he'd do anything, even little things like answering the phone at three in the morning, if it meant that she'd smile a bit more in the morning.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A/N: Sorry again for the delay. If you liked this chapter, please review. Reviews really do give me the incentive to keep going.


End file.
